


Leaves

by wilddragonflying



Series: The Rose of Adversity [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Connor swallows and you can fight me on that, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Trans Character, Trans Connor, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 04:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Connor’s number sits in Hank’s phone for almost two weeks, never forgotten, but never used. The hell is Hank supposed to use it for, anyway? A booty call? The thought alone makes him snort; he’s fifty goddamn years old, he’s too old for booty calls.Not too old to fuck a guy half your age in an alley in the middle of town,a snide little voice in the back of his head points out every time. And well, Hank really doesn’t have any way to refute it, because he had fucked Connor in an alley in the middle of town; it had also been in the middle of the night, granted, but that hardly makes it any better, considering the rest of the circumstances.Still, Hank wants to use the number Connor had given him, especially when those two weeks pass and Connor’s not been in trouble - not even a warning - once. Eventually, he settles on a simple,John Wick’s playing at 4:30; figured it’d be a good way to spend my day off.Nice conversation starter, if nothing else. And a bit of an open invitation without outright stating so.





	Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...... I got no excuse for this.

Connor’s number sits in Hank’s phone for almost two weeks, never _forgotten,_ but never used. The hell is Hank supposed to use it for, anyway? A booty call? The thought alone makes him snort; he’s fifty goddamn years old, he’s too old for _booty calls._

 _Not too old to fuck a guy half your age in an alley in the middle of town,_ a snide little voice in the back of his head points out every time. And well, Hank really doesn’t have any way to refute it, because he had fucked Connor in an alley in the middle of town; it had also been in the middle of the night, granted, but that hardly makes it any better, considering the rest of the circumstances. 

Still, Hank wants to use the number Connor had given him, especially when those two weeks pass and Connor’s not been in trouble - not even a warning - once. Eventually, he settles on a simple, **_John Wick’s playing at 4:30; figured it’d be a good way to spend my day off._ ** Nice conversation starter, if nothing else. And a bit of an open invitation without outright stating so. 

So if Hank dresses up a little nicer than he usually would be an afternoon at the movies, he doesn’t think anyone will _notice,_ and he doesn’t give himself any grief for it. He has no idea why Connor gave him his number, _really_ doubts it’s for something as… as _genuine_ as flirting and setting up dates, but he’s been out of the dating game for a while now, what does he know?

He arrives at the theater by four, which gives him plenty of time to go to the bathroom, get snacks, and select a seat in his preferred area - up in the very back row, so he doesn’t have to put a crick in his neck looking up, and he’s able to actually _see_ the whole screen at once. By the time the lights dim and the trailers start, there’s no sign of Connor, and Hank refuses to let himself feel disappointed by it. He hadn’t meant anything by that text, he reminds himself, settling back into his seat and keeping his attention tuned to the screen.

Or at least, he does until he notices someone coming in late - someone who pauses at the entrance to the theater, scanning the rows, before climbing the stairs purposefully to Hank’s row. In the dark, it’s hard to be sure until he’s close, but Hank hopes - 

He’s not disappointed.

“Sorry I’m late,” Connor murmurs as he settles into the seat on Hank’s right, his hand brushing over Hank’s arm. “Had a meeting that ran over.”

Hank manages to somehow untie his tongue long enough to say, “Movie hasn’t started yet, you’re fine.” Connor tosses him a small smile, and Hank turns to face the screen again, but he can’t help glancing at Connor from the corner of his eye. He’s wearing a damned _crop top,_ a flannel shirt tied around his waist, jeans that Hank knows from the way Connor had squeezed past him are riding low on his hips. The weather isn’t exactly crop top-worthy, but Hank’s not one to judge someone’s personal style.

Even when that personal style seems designed to give him a fuckin’ heart attack.

Still, when Connor doesn’t do anything besides steal a handful of popcorn and settle himself more comfortably in his seat, Hank allows himself to relax, focus a bit more fully on the movie - though not enough that he lets Connor get away with _every_ attempt at stealing some of Hank’s popcorn. 

About a third of the way into the movie, Hank idly notices the ushers coming in to check the theater - looking for people on their phones, talking too much, the usual. He doesn’t pay them much mind, just notes when they leave again, but Connor must have been waiting for them to come and go, because the next time Hank glances over at him, he’s got a hand between his legs, rubbing against himself through the fabric of his jeans. 

Connor makes a soft noise, barely audible over the sound of the fight going on onscreen, and Hank nearly chokes. Connor chuckles; when Hank looks up, meets his gaze, Connor’s _smirking._ “Keanu Reeves is hot,” he murmurs, leaning in so he, presumably, doesn’t have to speak any louder than necessary. “And you’ve just been _sitting there,_ sneaking glances… Can’t blame me for getting frustrated, Sheriff.”

Hank swallows, hard. “Hank,” he says, quiet. “I’m not - I’m not on duty. Call me Hank.”

Connor blinks, but then his smirk evens out into a smile that seems almost genuine. “Hank,” he says obligingly, and Hank’s abruptly reminded of the way his name had sounded falling from Connor’s tongue, colored by sex. It’s not as saturated now, but Connor’s getting there, the movements of his hand quickening, and Hank feels frozen in the seat, unsure of what’s allowed here and now. Last time there’d been a goal, a reason, flimsy as it had been on Hank’s end, manufactured as it’d been on Connor’s. But this?

Hank _really_ didn’t intend for his text to be taken as an invitation for another hook up, even if he’s spent every night the past two weeks reliving the encounter in the alley. 

The next sound out of Connor is frustrated, and then he’s no longer touching himself, reaching for Hank’s hand on the armrest between them. His fingers feel too warm, the heat between his legs clinging to them as they wrap around Hank’s wrist, guide his hand to replace Connor’s. Hank sucks in a breath when he feels rough denim beneath his fingers, can’t help pressing against the heat warming the fabric just to see what kind of noise Connor makes.

 _Encouraging,_ in a word. His grip tightens around Hank’s wrist, his other hand fumbling with the knotted arms of the flannel, pushing it out of the way to get at his fly, and Hank glances up and around them, makes sure there’s no one close enough to be suspicious about what they’re doing. The nearest person is over half a dozen rows away, the theater barely a quarter full thanks to the time of day and the fact that this movie’s been out for a couple of weeks now. It’s enough of a buffer for Hank to feel confident in pressing harder, rubbing firmly and smirking at the shaky sigh Connor lets out. 

He can barely hear the sound of Connor’s fly unzipping over the sound of the movie, and when Connor’s hips roll, pressing into him, he lifts his hand only long enough for Connor to push his jeans down around the tops of his thighs and pull his flannel over his lap. Hank slides his hand into the space Connor made, slips under the fabric of his boxer briefs. “You’re wet already,” he murmurs, not exactly surprised at what he feels against his fingers, dragging one firmly along Connor’s slit. 

“Been wanting you to touch me again,” Connor retorts, his hand resting on Hank’s forearm, squeezing lightly and sighing as Hank’s finger dips into his folds to slide through the slick gathered there. “Thought that was what you wanted, too, when you texted me after so long. You’re not an exhibitionist, are you, Hank?”

Hank’s eyes narrow, the only thing stopping him from silencing Connor with a kiss the awkward angle between them, but that doesn’t stop him from fucking into Connor with a finger, smirking when Connor has to press a hand to his mouth to cover his choked moan. “I’m a bit too possessive for that,” he says by way of answer, twisting his wrist so that he can rub his thumb over Connor’s cock, stroking the short length of it with one motion. “Think you can be quiet enough here?”

Connor nods eagerly, his hand not moving from its place in front of his mouth, and Hank promises himself he’s going to hear everything Connor has to offer one day. Pushing the thought aside for the moment, however, Hank focuses on the task at hand - literally. Even muffling himself, Connor is beautifully responsive under Hank’s hands, his hips twitching, rolling into Hank’s hand when he does something that Connor likes, his spine arching and head falling against the headrest when Hank does something he _loves._

Hank’s no longer paying attention to the movie; the only time his gaze leaves Connor is to flick towards the entrance to the theater, checking for an usher, someone who might see them here in the darkest part of the theater with Hank’s hand down Connor’s pants, working him closer and closer to the brink. By the time Connor comes with a cry that he buries in his hand, curled around Hank’s arm, leaning into his shoulder, Hank’s worked him up to three fingers. He fucks Connor through his orgasm, soft, reassuring words whispered into his hair as he shudders apart around Hank’s fingers. 

When Hank carefully pulls his hand out, he knows the skin of his fingers is wrinkled, and he doesn’t hesitate to lift them to his mouth, sucking them clean under Connor’s wide-eyed gaze. He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a soft sound covered by a gunshot onscreen, and barely gets a smirk on his face before Connor’s lunging forward, mouth crashing onto Hank’s in a desperate kiss that rocks him backwards in his seat, makes him thankful he’s already moved the popcorn bucket out of the way. 

Connor scrambles out of his seat, somehow managing not to make enough noise to draw any attention, and for a brief moment he’s in Hank’s lap, pressing against Hank’s cock which is straining against the zipper of his own jeans. It gives Hank _ideas,_ but he can’t act on them now - not when Connor, apparently, has ideas of his own. He slides out of Hank’s lap, backwards until he’s on his knees in front of Hank, his hands already working on Hank’s fly. “Fuck, I want you in my mouth again,” he whines, and Hank covers his mouth with the hand he’d used to fuck Connor, glancing up to be sure no one heard them. 

“You can, baby,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to Connor, spreading his legs as much as he can in the cramped theater seat, making room for Connor between them. Connor fits himself between Hank’s legs immediately, pressing as close as he can as he undoes Hank’s fly, tugs his pants open and reaches in to pull his cock out. 

“Knew I wasn’t imagining that,” he whispers, one hand stroking Hank in a long, slow motion. “ _Fuck,_ you’re big, Hank. Can’t believe I took all of that.”

Hank chuckles under his breath, reaches forward to push his clean hand through Connor’s hair, messing up the curls even more. “You did,” he hums. “Not in your mouth, though. Think you can do it today?”

Connor laughs. “Not without a lot more time to work up to it,” he concedes, leaning forward to take Hank into his mouth, lips wrapping around the head of his cock and tongue dragging over the head, dipping into the slit. Hank’s head drops back, resting against the cushion of the headrest, and he muffles a curse into his wrist, biting at the skin there hard enough to leave indentations in the shape of his teeth. He wants to do the same to Connor, leave a ring of bruises around his neck, litter bites along his collarbones and shoulders, and he entertains himself with the thought of it, taking Connor somewhere they can take their time, where Hank can spread him out on a bed and work him over _properly._

“Fuck, your mouth’s so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, petting at Connor’s hair. “Not gonna last long, the way you came on my fingers was too much.”

Connor glances up at him as his head bobs down, taking half of Hank’s cock in his mouth easily - more than some have managed before - and working his hand over the rest. Hank lets his hips roll once, a testing thrust into Connor’s mouth, encouraged when Connor makes a small noise and bobs his head again.

Hank meant it when he said he wasn’t going to last long; when his orgasm feels inevitable, he tugs on Connor’s hair sharply. “I’m gonna come,” he warns. “If you don’t - _Fuck._ ”

Connor takes him down further than before, gagging quietly around his cock, and Hank quickly abandons the thought of pulling out, _not_ coming down Connor’s throat. He lets Connor do what he wants, and when he’s ready to come, he tugs on Connor’s hair again, another warning - and when Connor pushes himself to the limit, when Hank feels his throat working around the head of his cock, he comes with a quiet curse, unable to take his eyes off of the sight of his cock disappearing into Connor’s mouth. 

When Connor pulls back, he keeps his mouth open just long enough for Hank to catch sight of his come inside before Connor closes his mouth and very obviously _swallows._ Hank swears under his breath, reaching down to pull Connor off of his knees, hauling him into a biting kiss, chasing the lingering taste of himself on Connor’s tongue. “You’re _such_ a little shit,” he breathes when they break apart, unable to keep from smiling when Connor smirks at him. 

“You love it, though,” he murmurs, sliding off of Hank’s lap and back into his seat, straightening his clothes as Hank fumbles for his own. “Enjoying the movie so far?”

Hank’s totally lost track of what little plot there was to begin with. “Never seen another like it.”


End file.
